Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,36

the street and turned back to speak to Mary. ‘Mrs Wharton is not of the same calibre as a London dressmaker, you understand, but she is not bad and her prices are reasonable.’

As the earl ushered them inside, a bell above the door tinkled.

A thin-faced woman, with her hair pulled back beneath her cap and bonnet, curtsied. ‘Why, Mrs Hampton, how good to see you and after such a long time, too. Come for your mourning clothes, have you?’

‘Certainly not. The ones from last year are perfectly adequate. No. It is Miss Wilding who requires your services.’

The woman’s surprised gaze swivelled to Mary and then up to the earl. She frowned. ‘A family member, miss? Needing black?’

‘Goodness me, Wharton, you do jump to conclusions. Miss Wilding is...’ her face took on an expression of dismay ‘...a family friend.’

The woman’s eyebrows rose. ‘What can I do for you, miss?’

‘A complete wardrobe, if you please,’ the earl said. ‘To be charged to the Earl of Beresford.’ He removed his gloves and toured the shop, touching the bolts of silks and muslins displayed on the shelves.

What on earth must the woman think of a man purchasing a wardrobe for a woman not a relative? Mary knew what she was thinking from the knowing gleam in the other woman’s eyes.

Mary felt the heat crawl up her face. This was too much. And it didn’t make sense. Why would he be purchasing clothes for her, if he was planning her demise, unless it was to draw people off the scent?

Whatever his purpose, she would not put herself under such an obligation. ‘Two morning gowns are all I require,’ she said firmly. They would replace what the earl had caused her to lose. That was fair.

Mrs Hampton glared at her. ‘Nonsense. Every young lady needs walking dresses. A dress for the opera. A ball gown. A riding habit. At the very least. Not to mention gloves, bonnets, and—’ she shot a wary look at the earl ‘—other items of apparel.’

Mrs Wharton’s jaw hung open.

Mary understood exactly how she felt. ‘I would prefer to see what you have already made up,’ she said with a feeling of desperation at the silken trap closing around her.

‘Something we can take with us today,’ the earl agreed, bestowing so charming a smile on Mrs Wharton, she simpered. ‘The rest can follow along later.’

The seamstress rubbed her hands together, a dry raspy sound like snakeskin over rock. ‘A complete wardrobe it is then, your lordship.’ She ran a critical eye over Mary. ‘No frills or bows.’

Tall girls couldn’t wear frills or bows. It made them look like mountains. It seemed Mrs Wharton and Sally agreed on that score. ‘Come this way, miss, so I can take your measurements. A glass of wine for you, sir? Tea for you, Mrs Hampton?’

The earl nodded his agreement. The woman scurried behind a curtain, no doubt to relay her instructions.

‘Surely there is no reason for you to stay, my lord,’ Mary said as he settled himself in one of the visitors’ chairs and stretched out his long legs. He looked altogether too comfortable. Too much at home, as if this wasn’t the first time he had participated in the dressing of a female.

An idea that gave her a nasty little wrench.

‘Ah, Miss Wilding, but there is. I wish to see you attired in the first stare of fashion.’ The hard look in his eyes warned her not to argue.

‘But surely Mrs Hampton—’

‘It is a long time since I was in town,’ the widow said. ‘I am sure his lordship has a much better idea of what is all the crack these days than I. My dear Miss Wilding, everyone knows that gentlemen have discerning taste when it comes to ladies’ fashion.’ She blinked rapidly, as if she realised just what she’d said.

Mrs Wharton reappeared. ‘This way, miss.’ She gestured to a door at the back of the room.

With a glare at the earl, Mary stepped through the door into a small dressing room containing a looking glass, a low stool and a young woman standing ready with measuring strings.

‘Daisy, while I take miss’s measurements, run and fetch the blue dimity and the yellow silk. With a little alteration, I think they will fit perfectly.’

The girl scurried off.

Gritting her teeth, Mary let the seamstress strip her down to her stays and chemise, and held still while the woman measured and tied her knots in the string. And all the time Mary stood there practically naked, she